My parents left last Wednesday. I'm sure they were looking forward to more comfortable beds, stronger water pressure, and brushing their teeth from the tap. But, for us it was bittersweet, as it always is to drive down that highway to the airport, the city in my rearview mirror. Another visit, the last?, came to an end.
And, as it very inconveniently happens, my boys got sick the next day. It hit Solo first, as it typically does, and now Rainer is going on his fourth hour napping; heavy breathing, sweaty brow, itty bitty limbs sporadically twitching. I don't blame him, as we did rise before 5:00 am. For some reason he insists on sleeping those last hours of the dawn with his nose pressed against mine and his hand down my shirt. I normally don't mind at all, it's just the hacking cough into my nostrils that's not my most favorite.
I've gone back and forth between snuggling with him under the covers, and eating lunch, and folding laundry, and staring out the window, wondering why I'm not sleepy, and now, this. Here, with only silence, save the pitter patters of my fingers on these keys. My tummy is full of warm soup (this one... it's yummy!), and my heart is tired, but happy.
I'm happy my boys are strong and lovely and beautiful. I'm happy we've made it to 10 years of marriage (next week) (also, how?). I'm happy to be able to run fast, and with people I love.
My baby is awake now.
I'm happy. (he's not)